Used to Be
by ally.enchantress
Summary: Who did Olivia used to be? She can't remember anymore." Periphery Feel The Silence . Persephone tries to remember who Olivia is. Olivia tries to remember her squad. Elliot, Fin, Munch, Cragen, Huang, etc. She needs a certain photo. RatedT for language


**A big big big big thanks to Periphery for the loan of her line! THANKS PERIPHERY!!!!!!!!**

**Uh... Okay, so I'm pretty new to full episodes of SVU, I started partway through season 9, so I didn't get to see any Persephone stuff. Chalk my liberties up to creative privilege. If you somehow know Olivia doesn't have a picture like the one I'm describing. Also, any mention of the squad takes place in her mind because they're obviously not in Oregon with her. If you don't like her... interaction... with Dean, suck it up. She wants that picture, and Olivia gets what Olivia wants, even if she has to do a little acting to get it.**

**Disclaimer: Everything SVU-recognizeable belongs to the genius(es) who created it. I own this story, not the characters used.**

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Staring at the rain, always falling outside her window in stupid Oregon, Olivia was reminiscing. It was something she'd never before allowed herself to do, but someone in her eco-group had said something about the JFK conspiracy, and Olivia had been reminded of John Munch. She fully expected a detailed, perfect image of John to pop immediately into her head, but that was not even close to what she got. The picture, when it finally came into focus, was fuzzy, in black and white, and she wasn't quite sure it was Munch in the first place. Had his nose always been that long? Were his eyes just a little too small? Was his hair that long, or was it shorter? What did that smile of his look like? Was it big, or was it some sort of cynical curl of the lips?

She had forgotten. She had forgotten what John Munch looked like. And that terrified her.

So, she was curled up on the couch, hugging her knees to her chest, trying desperately to see the faces of her squad in the raindrops. Every light was out, so the moon provided the only glow. She could barely see her hand in front of her face, much less old faces in the sky's tears. Who did she used to be?

Her eyes welled up and the tears spilled over, something that almost never happened. She remembered when she'd cried in front of George Huang after seeing a house full of dead children. What did Huang look like? He was Chinese…or was it Japanese? No, it was Chinese. So that meant his skin was…yellowish, but how pale? An image formed in her mind, but she brushed it away. Paler than that. And his hair was darker. It was…was it longer, more Elvis-style than crew cut? No, she was pretty sure it was a crew cut of some sort. Another version of Huang presented itself, but she mused over the eyes in frustration. They were always kindly detached in some way, that shrinky look she hated. But what color? They were brown, right? Brown like hers? And his eyebrows were…thinner…and more prominent. His eyes were the narrow Chinese kind, but weren't they just a little bigger than that?

The need to throw something astounded even her, so she picked up the pillow she was cuddling and flung it at the door. Someone was knocking now. "Persephone?" It was Dean.

Screw him. She grabbed a heavier pillow, wishing she had a sword or something like in old movies, and hurled it in the direction of his voice. As the thump echoed around the room, the presence disappeared and she was alone again.

What about Don? What did her captain look like? His face had been oval, almost like an egghead. He also would kill her if he found out she had called him an egghead. Even if it was in her mind, on the other side of the damn country. He had smallish eyes, almost beady, she thought, and wrinkles. He was bald…oh, God, that wasn't him! She silently screamed at the picture in her head. That wasn't Captain Cragen! Oh, God, what did he look like? She frantically searched her memory and landed on that time he'd let her drink the bottle of alcohol in his office. That was a hell of a long time ago. Was that the best she could do? What kind of alcohol was it? Beer? Wine? Fucking rum? No, vodka. It was vodka. What brand? Had it tasted good? For the life of her, Olivia could not remember.

There it was! That was the shape of his head. Okay, Olivia, fill in the eyes…no, bigger…smaller…rounder…damn it. Too round. Okay, shrink them down a little…no, not like that! Come back to them. Focus on the mouth. Thin lips…pale…no, the curve wasn't that big…okay, better. Now the nose. And, using that method, Olivia managed to reconstruct something like Don Cragen. The problem was, when she looked at the whole thing with an artist's eye, she realized that, while her picture could have passed as Don's identical twin, it looked nothing like Don himself. There was no depth to his eyes. No emotion in his face. No frown lines in his forehead. Her fist collided violently with the back of the couch, and she kept punching until she imagined she could feel the metal of her locker.

Who had been constantly punching his locker?

No, she couldn't face Elliot right now. Even if it was only her pitiful reconstruct of him. There would not be a made-up picture of Elliot. She remembered him. Of course she did. She knew his face better than she knew her own. Of course she remembered what Elliot looked like. She would just save him for last. That was it.

On to Fin.

Alright, think, Olivia. She heard Elliot whispering in her ear, his arms comfortingly around her. _Think, Liv. Calm down and think._ Fin was black, obviously. Odafin Tutuola. He always had this weird ponytail/braid thingy so his hair looked short. So now it looked like it was like a buzz cut sort of thing. Yeah, something like that. But his skin was definitely lighter. Lighter…lighter…no, too light…darker…lighter… "UGH!"

Olivia didn't realize she'd spoken out loud until the sound reverberated in her eardrums.

Good e-fucking-nough!

She needed someone she remembered. She had to see Elliot.

Okay, Liv, say his name to see his face. "Elliot Stabler," she whispered.

Nothing.

"Elliot."

A blurry, grainy attempt came into view, flickered, and vanished.

No. No! NO!

"Elliot, Elliot, ELLIOT!" It took all her willpower to keep from screaming louder. She tried desperately to remember anything about him. Anything at all. What did his voice sound like? How much taller than her was he? No, no, no, damnit, damnit, damnit! Elliot, where are you? I need you! I need to know you weren't just some figament of my imagination! I have to know you haven't died! Where the fuck are you?

"Persephone, let me in!"

Damnit, stop calling me Persephone! I hate that name! What kid could do something so bad at birth that their parents would name her that? They'd have to be fucking evil! What would the girl's friends at school call her? Percy? Seph? _Phone?_

"Olivia!"

She froze. That was her name. _Olivia Benson, Manhattan SVU._ "Come in," she whispered. Dean entered nervously, stooping to pick up the pillows she'd thrown at him.

"Olivia, what is your problem?" She looked at him with a tearstained face and he immediately turned concerned. "Liv, what can I do?"

_Don't call me Liv. Elliot calls me Liv._ She looked at him and an idea popped into her head. The feeling she got was akin to that satisfied tightening of her chest when she'd stumbled across the one piece of evidence that solved the case. So this would take a little bit of good acting, a bit of distraught woman to arouse his protective male instincts, and she couldn't lay it on too thick. Reaching deep down in the buried abilities for the actress in her, she called upon tears—all too easy; she was already crying—and cuddled a pillow to her chest. "I need that picture."

"What picture, Persephone?" He was trying to remind her that she was undercover and had left Olivia in that locker with the rest of her belongings, but she didn't need to be reminded. She already knew she was supposed to be Persephone, and that was the very thing that made her cry. She knew Olivia would never have forgotten what her friends looked like.

So she glared at him through her veil of tears. "My imaginary friend Olivia needs the picture she gave you when she took this stupid assignment." When he looked skeptical, she decided to alert her actress. She wiped the tears from her eyes and then let more fall. "Dean, I…I can't remember what they look like! I don't know who I am anymore, and I'm never going to find myself again! Please, I just need to see it. I need something to keep me in reality, and I swear I'll never ask this of you again, but I need this now. Please, Dean, just…please." She just barely refrained from fluttering her eyelashes as she let herself cry again. You can't remember what Elliot looks like, she reminded herself. What do you look like?

Oh no.

She saw blonde hair, banana curls and scary Barbie doll-ness. She didn't look like a cop anymore. She looked like Persephone. What did Olivia look like? When she couldn't remember, she began sobbing again with renewed vigor, and Dean scooted across the couch to wrap his arms around her. She barely resisted the urge to push him away. Instead, she melted against his chest and cried softly into his shirt, wondering if she was laying it on too thick.

"Hey, shh…I'll get it for you. Stop crying."

The horrible guilt in her chest loosened slightly and she looked up at him. It had worked! She knew what Fin would have said. _You're slaying them, baby girl._ Her eyes fluttered shut and she curled up in a fetal position on the couch, paying attention only to the three tears that had escaped from her lids, wetting her lashes. She didn't feel Dean's weight leave the cushions, but his presence had vanished so she let herself loose and cried silently, conservatively, and bitterly.

Maybe she'd drifted off to a state of half-sleep or just gone insane because she suddenly felt the touch of strong arms around her body, pulling her into a comforting hug. She did not open her eyes; if she did, he would be gone. Instead, she contented herself with imagining her Elliot-construct holding her and comforting her as she broke down.

_It's okay, Liv. If you didn't let yourself cry I'd think you weren't human. It'll be okay, I promise._

"I miss you, El. I miss your anger issues."

_I miss your total lack of self-preservation._

"That's cold."

_Screw you._

"I can screw you harder."

_Whatever._

"Ha, I win. So how're the guys?"

_I don't know. I'm just a construct of your imagination._

"Damn it. Uh…you going to therapy?"

_Nope. How's Oregon?_

"How'd you know I was in Oregon?"

_I'm not real, Liv. I know everything you know. I'm not Elliot, you know. Elliot's not here._

"Damn it!" She shook her head violently, and her imaginary Elliot vanished. A knock on the door made her look back at the clock. Sleep must have come at last, because an hour had gone by. Dean entered cautiously, like he was afraid of getting hit with a pillow, and he had a small rectangle of paper in his hand. Her eyes fixated on it like pedophiles locked on children, albeit not as pedophile-ish. It was disturbing.

He passed it to her without a word, and she clutched it in her hands. It was a photo of the squad at the last Christmas party they'd had together. Somehow, Olivia had ended up in the middle with Casey. They were grinning like mad. Olivia was shoving a green-iced cupcake into Fin's mouth, and he was trying to smile and not choke. Cragen bore the most chagrined expression she'd ever seen on him, an obnoxious Santa hat perched on his bald egghead. Fin must have wrapped fat tinsel around Munch's neck because that's how he was depicted in the photo, standing by the captain with his this-is-a-conspiracy face. She'd deliberately left Elliot for last. But there he was, sitting at the floor at her feet, back against her legs. Her imagination hadn't done him justice.

Perfect.

Suddenly, millions of memories flooded her mind. Dean had left, probably because he didn't know how to handle a sobbing Olivia Benson. But Olivia wasn't crying anymore. She was far too lost in forgotten memories to cry.

_They were working the sophomore's killing eight years ago. She, Elliot, Cragen, Abbie, and some lawyer were in an interrogation room with a suspect._

"_It's kinda like a TV show, isn't it? A room full of cops, some silent, some leaning in with cynical…quips?"_

"_We're not in court, counselor, we're in my house. Save your lawyering for someone who gives a damn."_

Wow, she'd forgotten all about Abbie Carmichael. She was before even Alex.

She remembered Richard White, and she shivered. _If you can't trust your partner, Elliot, it's time to get a new one._

Crap. She remembered Brian Cassidy and all less-than-pleasant memories accompanying him…

Monique Jeffries… Her mother's death… The little daughter of the two singers who filed a restraining order because their kid had a problem… Her mentor and trainer-turned rat squad informant… That really weird one where the guy was raped by the women… Alex nearly getting her and Elliot fired five years ago…

_She, Elliot, and Alex were walking down the sidewalk when a car pulled up beside them._

"_Gun!" Elliot yelled._

_She pushed Alex to the ground and took cover herself. Elliot took off after the car while she looked for Alex. The ADA was lying on the ground, staring at nothing, and bleeding from a gunshot wound to her chest._

"_Alex! Alex. Stay with me, sweetheart, stay with me. Somebody, call a bus! Alex, you're going to be okay. It's okay. You're okay."_

She remembered staring at a newspaper with Alex's face on it. "No News on Slain ADA." But Alex hadn't been killed. She'd been put in WPP and then come back a year later to put her near-murderer in jail. Casey Novak had come after that, and her name brought with it a whole new swarm of memories.

Fin's son, Ken… That prostitute/serial killer… Casey being assaulted in her office while Olivia walked three blocks to an open coffee shop… Kathleen being arrested for DUI… Poor little Maria… The white supremacist group who'd shot Munch and Elliot…

"_I can't do this anymore. I can't keep looking over my shoulder, making sure you're okay."_

"_You son of a bitch, you know that's not true."_

"_That little boy would still be alive! I need to know you can do your job without waiting for me to come to the rescue."_

That was the worst thing he could have said to her. Elliot had done what no one else had ever done. When she was trying to hold her blood inside her body after being gashed by Gitano, he'd said something that made her cry. And then he'd tried to make her kill him to kill Gitano.

"_She's gonna die, he's gonna die, and it'll all be your fault."_

"_That's not true, Olivia, it's not the same."_

"_Yes it is, Olivia."_

"_Liv, it's okay. Take the shot, Liv, it's okay."_

She moaned in pain. She knew what was coming next.

"_If that guy hadn't shown up, I know you would have taken the shot, Olivia."_

"_No, I wouldn't have. You really think I would be the one who caused your death?"_

"_We both chose each other over the job. We can't be partners."_

And then she'd gone to Cragen—she relished in the crystal clear image that now presented itself—and asked for a new partner.

Then her final case, equipped with Haley Kerns and Dana Lewis.

Olivia—not Persephone, Olivia—shivered again and slipped the photograph into her pocket. Now that she knew who she used to be, she wasn't sure she liked the image.

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**I know it's not the happiest story in the world.... But I never said it was cheery.**

**I would really appreciate a donut right now, because the granola and blueberries breakfast I had was not all that tasty. Well, the blueberries were awesome. The granola, not so much...**

**For those of you who haven't read Garden of Eden, donut=review!**


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